


Pressure Ridge

by Frances_J_Irnok



Series: Cracks in the Ice [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Oral Sex, Seduction, Silence, Stress Relief, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frances_J_Irnok/pseuds/Frances_J_Irnok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pressure of being the British Government brings Mycroft to the point of collapse, and Anthea realizes something must be done before the strain makes him crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Ridge

“I don’t think you quite understand what you are asking of me, Prime Minister,” Mycroft said into the phone.  His voice was as smooth and polished as marble, but the sweat on his brow belied his stress.  

“Yes, yes, I see what you mean, however, given the situation with India, I don’t believe that is prudent.”  There was a pause as Mycroft listened, holding the phone with one hand and kneading his brow with the other.  

“This is not a situation to be taken lightly, negotiations are very delicate at this time.  Yes, I realize that I have worked miracles for you in the past, Prime Minister, however there is a limit.  I see.  Well, I will do what I am able, good day.”    
  
It was all Mycroft could do not to wing the phone at the wall once he’d pressed ‘End.’  An international situation was coming to a head, and the leaders of all three nations seemed convinced that Mycroft was the man who could singularly bring about a resolution that would satisfy them all.  Little did they know that they were putting pressure on him that was unlike any he had faced before in his role as government advisor.  

 

Mycroft sent out a text message and within minutes his assistant Anthea strode into the room.    
  
“Have a car ready, I’ll be going to the Club,” he said without pleasantries or greeting.  

 

Anthea turned pale when she saw his face:  never one to let things get to him, Mycroft was looking downright haggard from the stress of the situation he’d been put into the middle of.  A wave of emotion crested inside of her, taking her by surprise.  She was angry that these heads of state he was dealing with couldn’t see that Mycroft was a living, breathing person just as they were, and what they were putting him through was deeply unfair.  She also knew, however, that Mycroft had built a reputation upon being almost robotic in his quest for power, laying aside relationships and comfort in a quest for control.  Lips set into a firm line, she nodded and backed out of the room to make preparations.    
  
The Diogenes Club.  This was Mycroft’s haven, his sanctuary when the rest of his life was in turmoil.  Exclusive in the extreme, the cardinal rule for members and guests was that speaking was not allowed at any time in common areas.  Discussion in private rooms was relegated to mere whispers.  

Mycroft’s long black car pulled up outside the stately, unobtrusive door. He entered the club, ignoring the old timers in the lounge and heading straight for a private, silent room.  Once there he poured himself a large drink, larger than what he normally would have allowed himself, but he had to find some way to relax.  Unable to be still, he paced back and forth, brushing back the curtains and gazing down upon the streets of London from time to time.

He knew that, in time, he would come to an equitable solution that would satisfy all the parties involved, but until then, he was more stressed than he could recall ever being, even if he would never admit it to anyone but himself.  

 

Some time passed, and he was half finished with his drink and feeling less relaxed than he would have liked.  To his great surprise he heard a hand at the door: There were explicit instructions never to bother Mycroft here unless it was a matter of national security, and besides, there were only two people who knew that he could be found here.  It was one of them who stepped through the door.    
  
~

 

Anthea had never seen Mycroft in such a state and it worried her.  Their relationship was purely professional, even if there had been a couple of slip ups.  There was that time in Paris, when they had narrowly escaped an attempt on their lives...they never spoke of these things though. There was never confession nor discussion and nothing crossed their lips that wasn’t business related.  

 

In many ways, that made what Anthea was about to do a lot easier.  

 

She’d followed Mycroft to the Diogenes Club, several minutes after he’d departed.  When she arrived, it was with great consternation that the regulars in the lounge regarded the click of her high heels across the parquet floors - but once they saw who the heels belonged to, any thought of protest vanished.  

 

Anthea was one of only three females who had ever crossed the threshold into the Diogenes Club.  When Mycroft was made a member he’d decreed that his closest assistant should have free access to the club as well.  This was accepted without question until it was discovered that Mycroft’s most trusted assistant was a woman with cascading brunette hair and a penchant for wearing kitten heels.  Mycroft, in his way, convinced them to accept her in short order and before long she was a recognized, if not trusted, presence within the club’s hallowed halls.  

 

Anthea ignored the stares and headed directly for Mycroft’s suite, the one he favored, the one she knew he would be in.  As knocking was a forbidden expression of noise, she purposefully strode through the door without warning.  

 

~

 

Mycroft froze, drink in hand, when Anthea entered the room.  His face grew peaked as he became convinced that the government crisis had come to blows in the short time he’d allowed himself to be away.  

He opened his mouth to speak but was hushed when Anthea put a hand up to her lips in warning.  She shushed him, pointing to a polished brass plaque which hung on the wall.    
  
“SILENCE IS MORE ELOQUENT THAN WORDS” - Thomas Carlyle

 

Mycroft could tell from her body language and the pink flush to her cheeks that there was nothing amiss - still, why on earth would she be bothering him here?  His heart pounding, he took a sip of his drink and steadied himself.    
  
Anthea came across the room to him slowly, her eyes never leaving him.  He really was quite an attractive man, she thought to herself as she came towards him.  He was normally just too stressed, sour-faced and reserved for anyone to notice that fact.  People often regarded his younger brother Sherlock as the handsomest of the Holmes brothers, but one of Anthea’s deepest secrets was that when he let his guard down, Mycroft was one of the most beautiful looking things she had ever seen.  

 

She was within arm’s length of him now and she reached over to the table beside him, plucking a tissue from a gilt box and using it to wipe away the russet lipstick she’d been wearing.  It wouldn’t do to leave any traces on him.  Lipstick removed, she tossed away the tissue and took his drink in one hand and an arm in the other, giggling internally at the perplexed expression on his face.  She led him to a stately wingback chair in the middle of the room and placed a hand on his chest, gently yet firmly motioning for him to sit down.  Mycroft did so, still looking not unlike a cow looks at an oncoming train.    
  
She straddled his knee, still standing over him, and took a sip of the drink he’d been having.  It was an aged, smoky Scotch that went down smooth.  Setting the drink on the table beside them, she pressed a finger to his mouth in order to silence the questions she knew were coming.  He sighed defeatedly and she sank to her knees between his legs, her hands trailing down his body all the way.    
  
He shivered and a rush of anticipation coursed through her body.  Without hesitation, her fingers went directly to the buckle of his fine leather belt, unfastening it before going for the fly of his expensively tailored trousers.  His breath was coming faster now, she could sense it, even though he was trying his hardest to seem dispassionate and removed from what was going on between his legs.  

 

Anthea reached a hand into Mycroft’s trousers, cupping the bulge in his pants and savoring the heat of him.  Without any further hesitation, she deftly pulled at the waistband of his underpants with one hand while withdrawing his penis with the other.  

 

She made no outward signs that she felt him shudder when her skin met his, no acknowledgment of the slightest “Mmm” that barely escaped his lips.

 

He had grown hard there in her hand and she stroked him for a couple seconds before engulfing him in her mouth.  It was all she could do not to smile as she heard him grunt between his clenched teeth.  

 

Anthea was playful at first, licking his shaft like ice cream, tasting and testing, finding the places he liked to be teased the most.  She withdrew and he whimpered, ever so slightly.  She looked up at him, into his eyes, and she could almost see the stress melting away.  She shot him a warm and naughty smile before capturing his cock in her mouth once again.    
  
Knowing that time was a factor, she sucked at him insistently, bobbing up and down while swirling her tongue around the head of his rigid cock.  Mycroft’s hands moved from their tight grip on the armrests of his chair to touch her, one hand running through her hair and one hand on her shoulder.    
  
She moaned longingly when she felt his touch, encouraging him wordlessly to do whatever he needed to take his pleasure in her.  Mycroft looked down at Anthea, her pretty head and silky smooth hair bobbing up and down on his member, and his orgasm grew notably closer.  She felt him grow slightly more tense and she moaned again, encouraging him.  For as buttoned-up and proper as he was in all other situations, Anthea had come to learn that Mycroft could be quite a vocal lover, and she knew that it was difficult for him to maintain his silence as she covered his cock in her saliva, her tongue flicking everywhere and sending shockwaves of pleasure down his legs.  The thought of him struggling to compose himself excited her and she kept going insistently, sucking the length of him.    
Mycroft shifted slightly, his thighs tense, and placed both hands on the back of Anthea’s head.  Half whispering, half moaning the whole time, he used gentle pressure to force her down, taking him in as deep as she could, and he thrust his hips up into her, feeling the tip of his cock slipping into her throat.  She withdrew after he’d made a couple strong thrusts into her, gasping for breath through her nose while her mouth remained occupied by him.  

 

Once she’d caught her breath, Anthea decided it was time to bring him off.  She curled her tongue and swirled it around the head of his cock while two of her fingers reached in and stroked the base of his shaft.  

 

The intense sensations of her tongue focused on the head of his throbbing cock made Mycroft feel as though he were going to go insane.  He wanted so badly to let go, to fill her with cum, but he wasn’t sure how he could be quiet enough.  He removed a hand from her hair and balled it into a fist, biting at his knuckles to keep himself from crying out.  

 

The sight of her before him, on her knees, sucking his exposed cock while the rest of him remained in his three piece suit, the feel of her head under his hand as it bobbed up and down on him, and the sensation of her talented tongue and incredible fingers came together to bring Mycroft to an exquisite, breathtaking orgasm. He growled into his fist as he filled her mouth, biting his own knuckles hard enough to leave deep red marks.  It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this release, and as he came Anthea had to swallow deftly and quickly several times in order to take it all.  

 

She savored the hot, salty-sweet taste of him, using her mouth to clean him carefully so as to leave no traces of what they’d done.  She tenderly helped him get back into his pants and fasten his trousers before standing upright before him, wiping at the corners of her mouth and smoothing her outfit.    
She went to the gilded mirror in the room and fixed her hair, re-applying her lipstick and being sure that there was nothing out of place.  Once she was satisfied that she looked well put together, she turned back for one last look at Mycroft. He was still in his chair, looking dazed, but his color was much better and he looked a lot less like the living dead.  He reached for the tumbler next to him and took a healthy drink from his Scotch.

Anthea knew what his eyes looked like after he came, soft and vulnerable.  She looked away from him, because she knew that if she were to see the soft vulnerability there, she would not be able to resist swooping down and pulling him into her arms, holding him close and whispering affectionately into his ear.  Instead, she sighed with finality and walked through the door purposefully.    
  
Anthea strode confidently through the Diogenes Club, giving no impression that anything other than business had taken place there.  She entered the waiting black car and sped away, her eyes fixed on the stately brick club until it was well out of sight.  


End file.
